


And who can see the golden rot from the inside

by Yenneffer



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Family, Gen, Gen Fic, Grief/Mourning, Post-Thor (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenneffer/pseuds/Yenneffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are gods who cry, for Loki is no more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And who can see the golden rot from the inside

His dreams are dipped in poison.

Failure, all around, and it spears him like shattered spiredomes growing golden upon this mountainous soil. The kingdom prospers, the golden city in Asgard’s heart shines brighter than ever, it would seem (it mocks him, this brightness of a star on a nightless sky, the everlasting summer always lacking the harsh beauty of winter; he misses it, grows weary of the hot sun). The gilded halls of Asgard’s palace ring with empty hollowness, though. The royal family stands united in front of Asgard’s people, yet in private they splinter. 

Frigga, who only ever smiles for Thor anymore. Her smiles are laced with sorrow, though, and a desperation. She wishes she could hold her warrior-child in-between the folds of her skirts, hide him from the world which has already taken one of her sons. A she-wolf, barking mad at anyone who dares come close. The loyal and steadfast Queen, who stands by the King’s side, spears him with a cold blame that spans between them like a cord of steel, a binding chasm that never lets go, that is unbreachable. She is ever-watchful of danger, now that is too late.

The golden Prince is a ghost-like presence in the palace. He wanders in the corridors alone, for the first time shunning the company of others. His steps ever-lead him towards his brother’s chambers, and the training fields are barren in want of his cheer and exuberance. He pushes on the heavy door till the wood creaks and gives way, and his feet stumble into his brother’s sanctuary, clumsy and uninvited. He spends hours here, his thoughts resting under the heavy haze, before his eyes and thoughts and steps turn towards his brother’s bed, where he sits, the only weight that disturbs his brother’s sheets. He looks for solace in there, and behind his closed eyelids, but on the edge of his vision he sees the walls of his brother’s room dipping with venom. He sleeps.

Odin dreams of failure, the hours in-between the dreams he sits bent on the giant throne, plagued by phantom voices, the laugh that laughs is spilling through the rotten cracks in the throne room, and Gungnir burns his hand when he touches it, leaving wounds of gold on his old, foolish skin. Sometimes he sees from the corner of his one good eye the poison dripping dark and haunted from some forgotten cobwebs moving in the shadows, everywhere. Nothing is there when he turns to see.

Asgard moves on. But there are gods who cry, shrouded in mourning, for Loki, the Silvertongue, the Liesmith, the Sky-Walker, the Trickster, Loki of the many faces is no more.

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing was a cause of great frustration. I wrote it some months ago on tumblr, but during posting most of it - save the first paragraph - was deleted. I liked that first version, and this is just a poor substitute for it, but I couldn't leave it unfinished, so I tried. Couldn't get it quite right, but here it is.


End file.
